


what you'll do to me tonight

by Anonymous



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alex gets in over her head without actually blowing her cover, Alternate Universe - Dom/Sub, Asexual Roulette, Dubious Consent, Espionage, Exploitation, F/F, Incorrect Use of ABO Terminology, Kidnapping, No Smut, Omega Alex Danvers, Roulette is a terrible person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23652889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Alex's off the books reconnaissance mission goes wrong, in a way that's almost worse than totally blowing her cover.
Relationships: Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer, Roulette | Veronica Sinclair/Alex Danvers
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31
Collections: Anonymous





	what you'll do to me tonight

Running a successful criminal establishment is cause for developing a keen eye. Which is why it comes as no surprise to her - although others may be taken aback - when Roulette notices an anomaly at one of her meet and greets. It's subtle, an almost hidden abnormality catching at the corner of her eye during a habitual sweep more than anything concrete she can put her finger on. Nothing in the structure has changed from setup, which means ...

One of her guests isn't quite behaving in the normal fashion. How exactly is hard to pinpoint, but once she turns her full attention in that direction it doesn't take long until she locates ... there. There she is, accepting a glass from one of her waiters.

She's blending in almost perfectly.

Almost being the key word in that sentence, because _almost_ isn't good enough to escape Roulette's notice, but it serves her well enough in a room full of Alphas. Then again, it is her business to ensure that they're all _distracted_ Alphas. Clever girl. It's not the smartest plan, but this isn't the smartest audience, merely the richest and most willing to spend their money.

She shuffles through the possibilities in a corner of her mind, making her way closer. An infiltrator of some sort? A local cop operating far above their pay grade? It's a possibility, but a negligible one. She's far too well connected to have to worry about that.

Or is she a saboteur, from some unknown rival? With the way she moves easily through the crowd - and with the growing numbers her venture it attracting it is getting claustrophobic: a secluded area at the next venue would go down well, not to mention the bidding war she could generate over the privilege - sneaking into areas that ought to be off limits is a distinct possibility.

...

No, Roulette decides, she fits the scene too well for that, and there's no one with the influence to even think of challenging her line of work, not yet. Cadmus is the only possibility she can think of, and they're only interested in experimenting on aliens, not showcasing them. Besides, they get a regular supply of the specimens she's done with.

So what makes this one different? It's not that she's attractive – she undoubtedly is, even with her face half hidden by her mask, the cut of her jaw and curve of her neck are obvious – but so are the majority of people here. For the rest, well, money makes up for all sorts of sins. She's like every one of these other wealthy individuals, bored, looking for a bit of fun, and if she wasn't so used to these little shindigs she wouldn't even ... aha - there. There it is.

The girl's moving around people instead of against them. It's odd. The lights, music, humidity and temperature are all geared towards bringing out the alpha in even the mildest of betas, the part most prone to impulse bets, conflicts, posturing impulses in everyone present. All useful aspects, in Roulette's line of work.

So why is this woman not reacting like everyone around her?

She lets her mind play with the issue like its a sore tooth while she mindlessly flatters a senator. Beside him, his wife doesn't bother concealing her amusement. She had bankrolled his campaign, to a tidy profit, after all. His current wife ... K-something ... no, Caren, Caren with a C, was on the brighter side of things, but her sights were set on much lower targets. Not a threat, and a useful connection to have when her interests didn't threaten Caren's continued financial security. Has a pet dolphin, of all things. French. A _dauphin_ dolphin. Roulette really must remember to drop that little bit of wit when next the topic is raised.

Finally, between one innocent touch and faked flattery - Caren really has a talent for making meaningless twittering stretch into something that resembles conversation - it twigs.

Her prolonged attention – nothing so blatant as staring, not her and certainly not here - catches on a spot of brightness against the dark fabric of her dress. What could that be? Surely not a stain, not in this company. Ah. It's a smear of makeup. Concealer? She doesn't seem to have notice it. She shifts again as the crowd surges. Now how ...? There's an obvious way it could've go on her thigh, although where she'd find the time before the displays have even begun, but on the _outside_ of her dress? And that doesn't fit with her observed behavior. She's being too ... _controlled_ for that.

Roulette is aware that she is far too invested in an issue that probably has a mundane explanation, but paying attention to detail is one of the reasons she is where she is.

And today it pays off.

Her eyes trace up, trailing along the length of leg and torso, and there, at the inside of her wrist, Roulette finds the peak of bare skin. It is still half concealed, despite the humidity in the air, but unmistakable. A pale band, almost luminous in the dim lighting.

Once it's caught her eye, she can't look away. Her disengaging comments are more than a little absent minded.

A sub. Here. It boggles the mind. More than that, an Omega. The Holy Grail in another line of work, similar enough that venturing over the line, just this once, wouldn't go amiss. The amount of money an Omega would bring in ...

The connections such a sale could make. It's enough to make her salivate.

She drains her glass, swallows, and sets to work.

It's easy enough to cut her target unobtrusively out of the crowd and into her office with the promise of a backstage tour - a little flattery, a subtle insinuation that the others can't handle it

Freezes at the change of surroundings. Roulette closes the door, steps around her to straighten a loose page on the desk, before she turns to face her. She doesn't back away. Her ability to recover is quite something. Instead, she relaxes into a slouch, projecting ease, confidence, beginnings of casual seduction, so easily it's almost natural. Roulette will enjoy stripping that from her.

"Kneel."

She startles. "What?"

"I won't lie, your disguise was good. But did you really think you would fool me?"

Chin comes up, and all pretence of relaxation fades.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She really is giving a good impression of being everything she isn't. What will she be like, stripped to the bones of her dynamic and begging? Delicious, no doubt. But Roulette always enjoys a fight. It's the losing she doesn't care for, and there is no chance of that here. She holds all the cards.

"Don't you?" This will be fun, fun, fun. She loves the defiant ones. "So it wouldn't bother you in the slightest if I announced to the Alphas," that may be a little hyperbolic, but there are more than enough of that type for her need, "outside that I've found an Omega sneaking into their playtime?"

Eyes flash, back goes ramrod straight in protest. Oh, she is good. "I'm not -!"

Steps into space, hand twisting into hair and cupping skull, bringing that sweet mouth shut with a click. "Oh sweet thing, you don't have to hide. Now, kneel."

She drops.

The descent is far from controlled, as if Roulette had reached past all the inhibitions staring up at her and twisted at her hindbrain.

Slowly, deliberately Roulette lets the silky hair slip out of her grip. Circles the trembling form - fear? Or is it fury at finally being caught? - without quite removing her hand, letting fingertips just trace the air above skin. The Omega stays on her knees. She can't help but admire the juxtaposition between her attitude - this girl has fire, hot and strong enough to burn the unwary - and what she is.

She looks forward to exploring that, but not now. She has other business to attend to this evening.

So she palms one of her fail safes from the desk behind her without looking away. Has no trouble locating it, even blind. The vial is hidden in plain sight for good reason, and it could hardly serve its purpose if she was unable to make quick use of it. Runs her fingers through the hair again. She quite likes the length. The Omega doesn't move a millimetre. Needle slips in, followed by opaque liquid before she can unlock her muscles enough to react to the pain. There's time for a single, unfinished yelp and she topples gently forward onto the carpet.

Roulette is above all a practical woman, so she doesn't take the time she wants to enjoy the sight. (An Omega! Here, of all places! And hers.) She has all the time in the world for that, and several impatient guests who are no doubt already wondering where she is and if they could benefit from her distraction.

With a brief moment of foresight before she walks out the door - she never claimed perfection, merely superiority - she ties the unresisting wrists together with a scarf. Silk, brightly patterned. Ultimately useless as a restraint, but it should keep anyone else from discovering what her newest acquisition is. If not, there's no reason they can't be killed.

.*.*.

After the party is wrapped (it's a success. They always are) Roulette returns to her office to fill in the ensuing paperwork. A reduced bureaucratic load is an advantage of her more ... unofficial style of running things, but there's no power known to mankind that gets rid of it entirely. If and when she encounters alien technology that achieves that miracle, she's retiring to a private island. What greater contribution to humanity could she possibly hope to make? Of course, she'd be bored stiff within the week.

The girl is still unconscious (naturally - alien drugs work, that's why she uses them) and undisturbed. She will probably be stiff when she wakes, but that's not reason enough for Roulette to go to the effort of shifting her. Especially not in heels. Her mind at ease, she settles in behind her desk and gets to work finishing up the day's affairs. 

With the last dash of a pen, she completes her notes and stretches until her back gives a satisfying pop. Checks the time. Almost midday. It's far from the fastest she's been, but then again, she _has_ been distracted.

She has three days free, then a check on her stock before she begins the build up to the next event. There is plenty of time for her to recover. Even so, she should catch some sleep. But it's hard to feel sleepy, with the opportunity that's fallen into her lap. Omegas are the subject of badly written erotica, not everyday life, even a life that regularly incorporates aliens.

A sharp ping breaks her musings on the logistics of several scenes. The source is a bag, half hidden under the desk. It must have fallen there when she dropped. Never one to care overmuch for other's property, Roulette hooks the strap with a heel and roots around in the surprisingly empty bag for the phone. It's a solid black, broken only butterfly stencil in deep purple. Now, what does that reveal about her? Her colour preferences? An affinity for insects? Above all things a sense of taste - Roulette has seen some truly gaudy accessories in her time. Almost anything - and any _one -_ would look good in comparison.

She settles back into her chair and unlocks it. The process is absurdly easy. A simple swipe and she's in. Roulette spends far longer in incredulous, judgemental silence. It's for the better that the girl's losing her phone privileges, because _really._ It's like she's asking to be taken advantage of.

The screen - the background is either night sky or fireflies, a further point in the insect folder - shows more than thirty unread texts, but Roulette ignores those for now. She checks the calendar first. Last night's event is simply labeled party. She was due to have lunch – Roulette consults the clock again – an hour and a half ago. She recognizes the location. It's a hole in the wall. Quite literally, in fact. It's only redeeming factors are the late opening hours and the sinful potato jackets. Her Omega obviously likes to slum, when she isn't infiltrating Roulette's more high end get-togethers. Nothing is shown for the rest of the week. In fact – she checks – that's all there is. Apart from the contact details for a Vod'ika, a John, no, Jon, and a Lane, the phone is blank slate.

A burner.

It shouldn't be so surprising, but cutouts are something that most of her clients think don't apply to them. She's got herself a smart cookie, for all that she disregards basic electronic security.

All other avenues of investigation momentarily closed, she opens the texts. They're all from a single contact, the lunch date.

They range from increasingly worried 'running late?' 'where are you' and annoyed 'you owe me double potstickers' to threats to the tune of 'if you don't arrive in the next ten minute I'm eating your food.' At that she gives her sleeping asset a glance. She will probably want something more to eat than cocktail sausages. It will be good incentive for her to behave. Why wouldn't it? The promise of dinner always works wonders for deal-making, and this is quite probably the most influential of her entire career, far greater than encouraging little Luther's affection.

Another few seconds of sedate scrolling and she surmises the Omega's name is Alex. Short for Alexandra, Alexandria, and Alexa. No less than five of the texts consist entirely of the word, so it's not exactly a wild guess on her part. The diminutive is appropriate.

_Vod'ika: Alex_

_Vod'ika: Alex_

_Vod'ika: Lex?_

_Vod'ika: Aleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeex_

_Vod'ika: Alex, I'm making you watch the notebook_

_Vod'ika: I mean it KL no horror movie for a week_

Beyond that, they contain nothing of import, save that Alex's location is for the moment unknown.

She absently turns the phone over and over again in her hands. Truly, today - and yesterday, technically - has been nothing but windfall after windfall. Alex will be that much harder to track if - when, Roulette knows better than to be caught up in the appeal of any one sub, even if she is an Omega, for too long, no matter how good she looks on her knees – she sells her on. And by the work of her own hands, no less. For now, she removes the sim card and allows Alex's soft steady breathing to sooth the residual tension away as she waits for the car to be brought round. She isn't as flashy, but she can disappear into the night as efficiently as any Bat. She can't _wait_ to show Alex how many ways she can make her scream.


End file.
